Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Everything seems to change in September. I guess we’re so
conditional by school calendars we think of September as the start of a new
year. Last September was a new beginning for Hubs and me. We moved into a new
house. After years of living in houses designed for others, we had one built
just for us.

I’m sure you’ve heard horror stories connected to building a
house—from Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream
Home to The Money Pit. Ours wasn’t
like either of those movies. Our financial planner, who had just had an
addition built onto his house, told us to factor in an additional thirty
percent. The banker who approved our construction loan disagreed, that this
builder didn’t do things like that. Well, we went over budget. Not because of
the builder, but because of what we wanted. Like a real laundry room instead of
the washer and dryer in a closet, lever door handles instead of knobs, no
thresholds, wider doors to the bathroom, and a handicap accessible shower. We
want to stay in this house as long as possible so we thought ahead to a time
when one of us might have limited mobility. Our rationale? As long as we were
doing this, we needed to do it right. For us. Of course, all those changes added
up quickly. Not anywhere close to thirty percent worth, though.

We’re very happy with our new beginning in a new town. We
moved because we wanted to be close to our grandchildren. And we’ve certainly
enjoyed their company. We know it won’t be long before they’ll have their own
extra-curricular activities, their own friends, and won’t have time for their
grandparents. Until then, we’ll enjoy their company (and our daughter and
son-in-law’s) as much as we can without having to drive nearly two hours there and
back.

When we moved in a year ago, this house felt like home
immediately. Even though we moved often, I never had that feeling before. With
boxes all around me, I sat down that first day and thought “this is home.” It
still feels that way.

Monday, September 29, 2014

I’ve been having a bit of a jaded time recently; you
know the sort of thing when you just can’t work

up any enthusiasm for anything…several
books almost done but I guess my Muse had taken off on vacation, because she
certainly wasn’t doing much to help me get inspired.

So, what to do? A couple of days away from home, work,
keyboard, from my life, usually shakes me out of it. Not that we actually live
a gadabout life, but a couple of days here and there are within budget and
refreshing. Any longer than a couple of days and we return to three felines who
turn their backs on us and refuse to be tempted to cuddles without some major
grovelling by their humans.

This time it was off to Toronto, an overnight hotel
stay curtesy of a special TravelZoo offer. Toronto

is such a modern, clean,
friendly city that it’s hard to get bored there, although I wouldn’t trade my
country lifestyle for a return to city dwelling.

We visited China Town, which is an outing in itself.
The area is so colorful, with stores full of fascinating herbs, veggies that aren’t
in our local market,jewelry, clothing,
drinks…and streets full of colorful, interesting, friendly people of all ethnic
varieties.

the Maritimes artist whose wonderful
work has received great acclaim. I’d never seen original Colville works before,
and it was mind blowing. Many of his paintings are ‘everyday’ scenes but there
is a disturbing element in them…you get the feeling from some of them that everything
is not quite as it seems…

I have to admit that I’m fascinated by artistic
people; Indeed, from time to time I've dabbled myself. And no, there won't be any of my attempts at acrylics on display ion this blog! However, the heroine of my very first novel, Judgement By Fire, is a
wildlife artist who is prepared to take on a huge corporation to save the
woodland artists’ colony where she lives. She finds herself falling in love
with the CEO of the international corporation, putting her life in danger, and
having to unravel a mystery involving a tangled web of hatred decades in the
making..

How’s that for writing a teaser without giving the
plot away? You can read the first chapter at my website, www.glenysoconnell.com

Seriously, though, if you get a chance to visit a
Colville exhibition, do go. Everyone needs refresh their creative soul now and
again. And leaving home is a great way to do it. :-) And now I'm signing off, because I'm totally wired and can't wait to get back to writing!

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Please join me in welcoming Nancy Jardine to The Roses of Prose today!

Last week, a devastating disillusionment affected
my writing. Prior to the recent Scottish Referendum on Independence, I couldn’t settle to tasks. Like
a butterfly momentarily hovering and pecking, then taking off to find a juicier
meal, the ping of yet another Face Book entry was incredibly distracting but
unlike normal, I couldn’t bear to close down the programme in case I missed
something important. The anticipation of change was all-consuming, though
disturbing.

The crushing disappointment came for me when
the referendum results were announced. The ‘YES to an Independent Scotland’ camp
was close at 45% of the vote, but not close enough. Having voted YES, I
despaired of missed opportunities for the future – especially for my toddler granddaughter
and grandson. I was truly heartbroken when the breakdown of voting indicated
that the over 65s age group were the largest group who chose to keep the Union
together – unjustifiably fearful of future changes to their state retirement
pensions and fearful of upsetting the status quo they have lived under for
decades. Disenchantment and crushing frustration is rife across Scotland which is
equally upsetting. Promises made by the Unionist parties in the current
Westminster UK government are now awaited with baited breath- since promises
and agreements are too often broken very easily, and sadly often have been
broken throughout history.

In my Celtic Fervour Series of historical romantic
adventures, my warriors are devastated when their way of life is crushed by Ancient
Roman infiltration of their lands - violent bloodshed a result. In Book 1, my
Celtic tribes make alliances to stand together against the forces of Rome -‘Unity is strength’
a strong theme. Unfortunately, my Celtic Garrigill warrior brothers have known
of too many pacts with the Roman Empire which
have faltered and failed, the agreements made not honoured which eventually
prompts physical, bloody battles. Newly formed romantic attachments are
difficult to nurture and sustain in warlike situations, so my main characters
have to overcome many conflicting factors which hamper the development of their
love during such trying times.

Feeling very emotionally fragile and unable
to write, I re-read parts of my series to see how successful I’d been at
conveying the emotions of my characters at particular vulnerable moments in
their stories, when situations they find themselves in seem insurmountable. In
Book 2 - After Whorl: Bran Reborn - my main character Brennus of Garrigill finds
his life is dramatically altered after a particularly bloody battle at Whorl between
the Celts and the Legions of Rome. Seriously injured during the battle, he
finds liberty is denied him when he eventually comes back to full consciousness
… “An itch he’d not fully recognised
irritated at his temple but, when he tried to lift his hand to scratch, he was
unable to move his arm. Something restrained him. A second wave of fright
overwhelmed.

The old woman had tied him to the cot!”

At this point in the story, Brennus has no
idea if the old crone who has him restrained is a sympathetic Celt, or if she
is in the pay of the Roman usurpers.

Here’s the blurb followed by an excerpt
which comes just after Brennus believes he’s a prisoner, incapable of regaining
his freedom.

Maybe you could tell me if I’ve hit the
right balance of emotional conflict for my poor injured warrior?

Ravaged
by war

…AD
71. After the battle at Whorl, Brennus of Garrigill is irrevocably
changed.

Returning
to Marske, Ineda finds her grandmother dead, though Brennus is not. Snared by a
Roman patrol, they are marched to Witton where he is forced to labour for the
Roman IX Legion.

Embracing
his new identity as Bran, Brennus vows to avert Roman occupation of
northernmost Brigantia. Ineda becomes his doughty spying accomplice, though
sometimes she’s too impetuous. Trading with the Romans lends excellent
opportunities for information gathering. Over time, Bran’s feelings for Ineda
mar with his loyalty to Ineda’s father.

When
she disappears, and cannot be found, Bran enters direct service with Venutius,
King of the Brigantes.

“It will pain you very much, but I need to know if you
see anything?”

Unable to sustain it – the intensity too searing –
Brennus closed both his eyes to replenish his fortitude then attempted to open
only the right eye. The brilliance stole his breath, the darting sting perhaps
less intense, or mayhap he was adjusting to it. Yet, though it was bright –
that was all it was. He could not see.

“Painful! Bright and blurred.” Though he tried to
prevent the despair, he was sure it was evident in every cried word.

A shadow of the old woman loomed close to his face,
her warmth and breath now familiar to him. A longer outline was a sudden threat
he instinctively knew could harm him. He flinched his chin away, the old
woman’s cackle of laughter startling in the quiet room as his left eye popped
open to check what was amiss.

“Just tell me if you see the edge of the blade clearly
with only your right eye, young warrior. I am not going to harm you with it.”

Agony shrieked through his right eye, the leaking
moisture something he could not prevent. He closed his left once again, to do
as she bid, the knife hovering at a reasonable distance. All was as in a deep
misty day, no vision beyond a hazy dark shape in a light greyness. A dark
desolation gripped him. How could he function as a tribal champion if he was
blind? Along with the hopelessness, a wretched anger took hold of him. Why had
Taranis so abandoned him? He had always paid due diligence to his god. What
kind of reward for his skills in battle was blindness?

“Your answer.” The old woman kept her patient tone.

“Nay.”

“You cannot see the blade? Or you will not tell me?”

He yanked his head away from her chin grip for he
truly had only seen a vague shadow of the blade. The melancholy deepened.
Blind? How could he train young warriors if sight was only in one eye? And what
other dire injuries had he sustained if she had tied him down? What was there left
to strap down?

Forcing himself to focus on the rest of his body, he
willed himself to rise. In his head he moved, but when he looked down to his
feet his body still lay prone under the blanket. By Taranis! What else was
badly wrong with him? His fingers moved the blanket, the blood flowing there,
but almost nothing came from his feet. Even tied down his feet should be able
to stir the blanket.

His head felt full to bursting with…rage. His misery
deepened further. What use was he if his lower body was dead?

No man at all!

He took his utter disenchantment out on the only
person available, his tone merciless. “You should have left me to die, old
woman.”

“Why would I have struggled to keep you alive for more
than two moons if I did not deem you worthy of it?”

#2 Celtic Fervour Series - After Whorl:
Bran Reborn - is available from

Scottish author, Nancy Jardine, writes Historical Adventures with
varying degrees of Romantic elements. Her Celtic Fervour Series is about a
warrior tribe from the hillfort of Garrigill during the late first century AD –
in an era when the mighty forces of Ancient Rome advance on the Celtic tribes
of northern Britain
causing havoc to life and love. She also writes contemporary mystery
romances.

Saturday, September 27, 2014

I admit it. I'm clumsy. Before I was born, my mother wanted to name me after my two grandmothers: Delia Grace. I wish Delia was my name, but Grace? Get real, Mom. She knew something I didn't even before I was born. I was going to be clumsy. My nickname at school would have been Graceless. Heck, I can trip over flowers in the carpet.

I watch my feet all the time. Sometimes that leads me to run into posts or walls. Mostly, I watch my feet when I go up or down staircases. I trip up much more frequently than I trip going down. I have no idea why, but I do.

I've had some spectacular plops in my lifetime. The worst fall wasn't caused by me tripping. I was caused by me swinging onto my horse just as a drunk in a car came around a curve on the highway. He honked, shouted and threw a can of something at her. He yelled, "Hi yo, Silver." Those of you old enough to remember "The Lone Ranger" know that when the Lone Ranger shouted this his horse reared onto his hind legs. My horse jumped out from under me, unceremoniously dropping me on my back. On asphalt. She didn't run off but stood on my pigtails and nuzzled my face until I recovered consciousness. I didn't think I was injured, so I mounted and continued to the upper pasture to move our small herd of cattle to the lower pasture where we could give them water easily. Did I forget to say we were expecting a blizzard the next day?

The blizzard hit. So did the pain. My mother took me to the emergency room. I came home a week later. I'd broken my knee and torn all kinds of cartilage and tendons, broken three vertebrae and cracked my hip. Did I say I had a concussion? I did. Needless to say, my mother was not amused.

I've had many different falls all my life, even after doing yoga for 40+ years, but none so spectacular as that one. I was sixteen at the time. Had I been named Grace, I would have been the deserving butt of so many jokes.

My last fall led me to write a haiku:

Ice-shrouded world

One slippery step –

Technicolor moon.

On that happy note, watch where you step. Your feet could do you in.

###

Betsy Ashton is the author of Mad Max Unintended Consequences available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. The second book in the series, Uncharted Territory, will be released in June 2015. She lives for words and writing.

Friday, September 26, 2014

I had a busy September planned. Out of town the first weekend, out of town the third weekend (extended for 4 days), then out of town for more than a week at the end.

Then small things started to go awry. The relatives I would be visiting in LA had another pressing obligation that coincided with the weekend I'd be there. That was a costly trip in terms of vacation time and money (hotel, shuttle, etc.)

Then my cat developed diabetes and requires 2 shots a day. I have a caregiver coming to the house, but she's a friend and I really can't ask her to drive 12 miles twice a day to give a shot. So he'll have to be boarded when we're out of town for a week. That isn't so costly, but getting the updates on his vaccinations is.

Then the Paycheck Job raised its head and my deadlines all shifted. What was due in early September was due -- you guessed it -- right when I was supposed to go to LA. It wasn't really a problem because I was caught up, but there was still a lot of churn going on.

So I canceled the LA trip (or rather postponed it, since I was flying Southwest and I won't lose the ticket) and the money I save there will pay for the cat going to the "condo" for a week. I can focus on Paycheck work so when I leave town at the end of the month I can truly relax.

Sometimes all these little churns (my word for when everything around you seems unhinged) just fall into place and work out. I'm hoping the same thing happens in my current work-in-progress. I have one plot point that's giving me fits. Let's see if I can get that worrisome little detail worked out. Then I can truly relax....

Thursday, September 25, 2014

The best thing about
self-publishing is that you are guaranteed to be published, no matter what type
book you choose to write. Traditional publishers often look for something not
yet written about, or seldom written about; such as true life alien abductions,
or what Earth might be like in the year 4000, if humans last that long.

Self-publishing allows the
author more leeway with subject matter. The author can tell it like it is;
unlike traditional publishers who generally follow a code of conduct, for the
fear of treading on someone’s toes. Traditional publishers always have that
fear of being sued for libel, whereas self-publishers tend to not care what
others think.

With self publishing every detail is up to the author.
From hiring a professional editor if the self publishing author is not prolific
in the English language. Editing is expensive, and every book, even self
publishing needs some editing to help polish the final product. Self-publishing
does offer editing and marketing services, but for an additional price, that
can be expensive. All that work is taken care of by a traditional publisher,
which means less headaches and work for the author.

When it comes to book covers, self-publishing companies
usually give the author a selection of artwork to choose from. Some of this
artwork is free, but some usually cost a few dollars. The free artwork is
seldom great, and might not coincide with the books material. For paid artwork
at self-publishing companies, the artwork is upgraded and more pleasing to the
eye, but is an extra cost, which might for some self-publishers, mean an extra
dent in their pocketbooks. Traditional publishers have their own art
department, which means the author is guaranteed a terrific book cover, which
is included in the contract. Both self-publishing and traditional publishing
companies, though, usually allow the author to use their own artwork if the
author chooses too, especially if the book is about the author’s family, pet,
friends, or profession.Using personal
artwork adds a touch of personification and genuine sincerity to the book;
which is always a good selling point.

What I discovered through Amazon, and something they did
not tell me in the beginning, is that with them, the author must keep a supply
of their books at the Amazon warehouse. Amazon is not a print on demand (POD)
distributor as is Lulu, as I initially believed it to be.Also, with the author’s books being stored at
the Amazon warehouse, the author is charged for a monthly storage fee. I don’t
know what this storage fee is, but I do know, that the more books the author
keeps stored, the higher the storage fee is. This storage requirement can be
expensive. The author is required to pay this monthly storage fee, even if
their book does not sell. When it comes to any type of artwork, whether it be
books, jewelry, or candles, artwork is usually a hard product to sell. If it
were easy, all artists and authors would be wealthy.

Lulu on the other hand, is a print on demand self
publisher. They do not store books, but keep each title stored in a queue, at a
contracted print on demand printer.

Also, what I understand is that Lulu allows 80% of the
royalties to go to the author, and Amazon allows 70%, but that percentage is
only applicable for books sold to certain countries outside of the U.S., such
as Brazil, Japan, Mexico, and India, and only for titles enrolled in KDP
Select.This in reality, means that the
author receives an average 35% of the sales, and Amazon gets the other 65%.

A author can struggle with locating a traditional
publishing company for many reasons. They have written a book that only they
are interested in; such as their family history. I don’t believe most would be
interested in reading about someone else’s family tree, unless it is as
brilliant as the book Roots, was. If a author is struggling with locating a
traditional publishing company, than self-publishing is for them. I for one
believe that if a writer has written a book, they should continue seeking out
the traditional publishing company. This only applies if their book is polished
and ready for sale. If a book has many graphical errors, it will not be taken
seriously by a traditional publisher. Getting away with graphical errors in a
self-published book is possible, but it would be disappointing and frustrating
to the reader.Whether the book is
self-published or traditionally published, the final product should be free of
errors, and entertaining, and pleasing to the eye. In my opinion, when it comes
to Lulu versus Amazon, Amazon bites the dust. Good luck.

Excerpt

For the Love of Ginnie

I
don’t know why I wanted to save the life of a person I never met. Maybe it was
because I was tired of bachelorhood. Maybe it was because I was a chemist and
the unusual, and unexplained, fascinated me. Or, maybe, it was because I was
obsessed with this twenty-year-old, dark-haired beauty named Mary Virginia “Ginnie”
Wade I had read about. These questions filtered through my mind as I drove to
the bar to meet my best friend Will.

Will’s
favorite hangout was “The Bling,” originally an old truck stop on State Route
93, in Nelsonville, Ohio. The place became a restaurant/lounge/dance hall and
brothel when semis no longer became a necessity for long distance hauling. The
invention of the transporter alsoreplaced many other primitive jobs
such as mail delivery and travel. “The Bling” was best known for the large
flashing lights suggesting scantily clad women in seductive positions above the
front entrance, and its “bulldogs,” monster-sized bouncers in Armani suits who
patrolled its two-block perimeter, inside and out.

“The
Bling,” just another joint with a sleazy atmosphere, like all alcohol-serving
establishments, differed only in that it catered exclusively to class “A”
clientele. Politely—or maybe not so politely—everyone called it the “Whorehouse
for the rich and bored.” Its reputation grew. Its income grew even faster.

I
pulled up in front and exited my vintage DeLorian, tossing the keys to the
baby-faced valet, by-passed the doorman with no questions asked. Just an
exchange of large smiles between us. Will was also part-owner.

As I
entered the twenty-four carat gold, electronic doors, Will immediately spotted
me and motioned me toward the bar with his diamond embellished hand.

I
loved sitting at the bar. It was the perfect place to see the shows. “Two
double scotches and water,” Will said, as we shook hands, and I slid into my
seat beside him, just as the tall, leggy waitress produced the drinks in an
instant.

I
immediately recognized the “girl” as one of the latest “do-everything-like-a-wife”
robotics. Robot manufacturing had become a booming business since the last war
destroyed the immune and reproductive systems in most humans, especially
females.

“I
don’t know why you waste your time flirting with non-humans,” I said,
cautiously sipping my drink. The immense emptiness of not being able to acquire
a wife and soul mate, I felt at this age in my life, almost drove me to
alcoholism, but my boss and mentor, Doctor Obar Gabry, intervened, saving my
life and promising career.

“Because,
dear friend,” Will began, “beggars can’t be choosey, and ladies are in scarce
supply. Beside, these ‘girls’ are all pink inside.”

“Ugh!”
I said, gulping down a large swallow of alcohol as if it could wash away my
friend’s vile mental picture from my mind.

“Come
on, Alex, loosen up. Live a little.” Will motioned to the waitress for another
round of drinks. “You’re alive, so act like it. Don’t let your beautiful mind
go to waste. This world needs people like you. People started treating me like
a god once I became an entrepreneur, and I love it.”

I
had to laugh. Maybe my self-pity stage had outlived its use. Only I can find a
wife for myself. I certainly won’t ask Will to hook me up. His sense of values
are as artificial as the women he beds.

The
pain and loneliness I felt at times from yearning for a life-long partner and
family wasn’t easy to accomplish. Scientific and Medical technology still could
not reverse the sterilization effects on the female species.

Sure
there were some human women to date. But most were either sterile, too old, too
young, or there was just no chemistry between the two of us. I wanted that
spark that unites between two people madly in love...like my parents. I never
met any couple happier with one another then my beloved parents. That’s the
kind of love I want…never ending.

The
emptiness and frustration of not finding companionship at times made me want to
die. But that was the loneliness talking. I know that now. I love life. I want to
live, and I know who I want for a wife. It’s just that meeting her would be a
little tricky.

Abruptly,
I asked, “What do you think about time travel?”

“Are
you serious?” Will asked. “Scientists have tried to conquer time travel for
hundreds of years, and failed.”

“Maybe
they failed because they weren’t Doctor Gabry and me.”

Will
looked at me in awe. “Oh, my god, you’re serious!”

“We
discovered something today in the lab,” I said, giving him an arrogant smile. “We
believe this is the answer.”